


Don't Let Your Emotions Rule You

by shadow_lover



Category: TRICKSTER - 江戸川乱歩「少年探偵団」より | Trickster: From Edogawa Ranpo's "The Boy Detectives Club" (Anime)
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Age Difference, Aphrodisiacs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 23:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10707162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: Akechi kneels in front of the couch, and damn it, that’s doingnothingfor Hanasaki’s composure. He’s so close, and all Hanasaki wants to do is grab him by the neck and drag him closer.“What did you take?” Akechi asks.





	Don't Let Your Emotions Rule You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [higuchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/higuchi/gifts).



> Happy Smut Swap! Hope you enjoy :)

Hanasaki’s working on homework in the science lab. Otomo ran out to talk to a teacher, so he’s alone for the moment—unless he counts Yamane scrubbing the whiteboard, which he usually doesn’t.

There are two glasses on the lab table next to him. The first is his glass of water. The second is a squat, round beaker, nearly the same size and shape, filled with a substance from Otomo’s latest experiment.

Entranced by the spaceships he’s doodling in the margins of his notebook, Hanasaki grabs the second glass.

*

He grimaces as he jogs out of the school building. It was only a drop, but he can’t get the taste out of his mouth. The aftertaste isn’t awful—just too sweet. Kind of oily, like it’s clinging to his teeth.

The day is sweltering. He doesn’t remember it being this hot when he got to school. He pushes his bangs off his face, and breathes deeply. He shrugs off his jacket and loosens his tie.

*

Normally he races to Akechi’s office. It’s just club stuff, and the job’s fun, but more and more, Hanasaki loves any chance to see Akechi. To hear his voice, to win his approval, to just soak up the man’s presence.

But today he’s late. He keeps having to stop and catch his breath. It’s so damn hot—but why does nobody else on the street seem to be feeling it? He sees students running around in full uniform, adults in blazers and jackets.

The elevator ride is excruciatingly slow. When the doors hiss open, he wishes it had been slower; he sees Akechi at his desk all the way across the room, and he’s clearly not in a good mood.

Hanasaki trudges across the glass floor and tosses his jacket on the couch. He tosses himself on the couch after it.

“Hey, sensei. Do we have a case?”

On any other day, he’d want one. He’d want three! But today—it’s just so hot. His skin itches under too-tight clothes, and there’s an odd tingling in his stomach. He thinks he might be sick.

 _Ugh, what was that stuff?_ Maybe he should ask Otomo.

He rolls onto his side, cheek against the couch cushion, in time to see Akechi shuffling his papers and setting them aside. He’s acutely aware of the tan, muscular lines of Akechi’s forearms as he steeples his hands.

“Hanasaki-kun,” Akechi says, and his voice has always been distractingly smooth, but when did it get so damn sinful?

Hanasaki’s belly tightens. He barely understands the words as Akechi continues speaking. Something about no new cases, wanting to slow down a bit as they figure out Kobayashi, and would Hanasaki just _pay attention_ —

Akechi slams his palms against the desk, and Hanasaki flinches upright.

He cringes under Akechi’s glare, even as he thrills to have all that knife-sharp attention fixed on him alone. “Sorry, sensei. What were you saying?”

Akechi’s frown deepens, and he stands. “What’s wrong with you, boy?”

_Boy._

Oh, fuck. That word shoots straight through him. He’s suddenly aware of how hard he is. “Nothing!” he squawks, drawing his knees up. He waves his hands in a futile attempt to keep Akechi from stalking closer. “I’m good! I’m good!”

But Akechi leans over, way too close. His lips look really soft, and Hanasaki can’t look away from his mouth.

“Cheeks flushed, pupils dilated. You’re sweating, even though it isn’t hot out.” Akechi clicks his tongue. “Are you sick?”

“Yeah.” Hanasaki wiggles down the couch in an attempt to get some distance. The extra six inches don’t help at all. “Yeah, I really don’t feel good. I think I’m going to go and lie down for a bit.”

Akechi tilts his head. “If I didn’t know better. I’d say you were high on something. Did you take anything?”

“No!” At Akechi’s narrowed glare, Hanasaki looks down at his hands, clasped tight and shaking over his knees. “Not on purpose.”

Akechi kneels in front of the couch, and damn it, that’s doing _nothing_ for Hanasaki’s composure. He’s so close, and all Hanasaki wants to do is grab him by the neck and drag him closer.

“What did you take?” Akechi asks.

Hanasaki screws up his eyes and buries his face in his knees. Maybe it’ll go down if he doesn’t look at Akechi. Hopefully. “It was an accident,” he mumbles into his trousers. “I was at Otomo’s lab, and I accidentally grabbed the beaker instead of my water. I don’t know what it was.”

“Didn’t Otomo say?”

Hanasaki shakes his head. “He doesn’t know. I didn’t want him to get mad—it was just a drop—it didn’t even taste bad at first.”

He peeks up to see Akechi rocking back on his heels.

“Damn.” Akechi scratches his jaw. The scratch of nails through stubble is deafening, entrancing. “Well, you sit there. I’ll call him and ask what—”

“ _No!_ ” He jerks upright. He can’t stand the thought of Otomo—of any of them—knowing what’s happening. If this is even the result of that chemical, or if it’s just him unable to control himself around Akechi. His throat seizes up and he can barely speak, but he manages, “I’m fine, I’ll just—”

He breaks off half because he’s run out of words to say, and half because Akechi’s eyes have widened comically.

“Oh, damn,” Akechi says.

“What?”

Akechi addresses the ceiling. “Inoue told me what Otomo’s working on. Because it was ‘inappropriate’ and ‘needed to stop.’”

 _Inappropriate?_ Hanasaki’s eyes widen. He can hardly think through how hot he is. It’s starting to hurt.

“He said it’s a chemical aphrodisiac.” Akechi’s looking at him again, cataloguing every visible inch of him. “So, you’re not sick, you’re just—” He breaks off, laughing. “I don’t need to explain it to you, right? You figured that out even with the homeschooling?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Hanasaki means to snarl, but it’s more of a whimper. “Can I go?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Akechi says, still with that laugh in his voice, but when Hanasaki looks closer, he sees Akechi’s no longer meeting his eyes. There’s a faint flush along his own cheekbones, which is—impossible.

Akechi stands and backs up. “Run along.”

Hanasaki unfolds jerkily, intensely aware of his cock straining against his trousers, trapped against his upper thigh. Of Akechi steadfastly not looking at him. “Sorry,” he mutters, and stands.

Or tries; his knees buckle beneath him.

He collapses into strong arms. A broad hand that lands at the small of his back, and burns hot through his cotton shirt. His nose and mouth are pressed against a broad, firm chest. When he gasps, he breathes Akechi in. 

He breathes again, more deeply. 

“Whoah, there,” Akechi says. “Hold it together.”

His fingers tighten. When Hanasaki moans, Akechi freezes. He doesn’t let go, which is nice, because Hanasaki’s legs still aren’t really working.

“Wow.” Hanasaki laughs too loudly. “You’re tall.”

“Shit. Look, kid.” Akechi takes him by the shoulders and pulls him back. His eyes are wide and—scared? Why would he be scared?

“Don’t.” Hanasaki clutches Akechi’s shirt, wishing he could take it off him. He isn’t sure he’d be able to manage the buttons. 

“Hanasaki-kun.” As if saying his name like that is going to help the situation. “Shit, you’re really fucked up.”

“Yeah. Don’t stop touching me.”

He doesn’t even have room to be embarrassed by what he’s saying. It’s a simple fact. He’s hot and hard and he hurts all the way through, and the hurt only eases when Akechi’s hands are on him.

He feels Akechi’s sigh through his whole body. “Oh, fuck. Come on, let’s get you lying down.”

Akechi hoists him roughly up into his arms. Hanasaki whines shamelessly and buries his face into Akechi’s neck.

The next several moments are a blur as Akechi carries him somewhere. Hanasaki doesn’t care where. He just cares about Akechi’s arms. Their pulses thudding together. The skin of his neck, right there, and Hanasaki can’t resist. He mouths at Akechi’s pulse, lets himself taste warm, salty skin.

He doesn’t bother to listen to Akechi’s scolding, just grumbles a protest when the man yanks him off his neck.

Moments later, Akechi’s warmth is gone. Hanasaki lands in a pile of blankets. The sheets feel like ice against his fevered skin. He’s too hot. He can’t breathe. He reaches out, but his fingers meet only air. With tremendous effort, he rises up on his elbows. He’s sprawled, legs bent and spread, and fuck, this should be embarrassing, but he can’t think about anything except how badly he needs Akechi.

Akechi’s five whole feet away, and it feels like a mile. He’s staring at Hanasaki with a scared, shocked look on his face like Hanasaki’s never seen before. He hadn’t known Akechi could get scared like this. He doesn’t understand why Akechi’s scared now, when everything can be so simple.

Akechi still isn’t looking him in the eyes, but he speaks. “I’m going to be out in my office. Take care of yourself, and come out when you’re all right.”

“Sensei?” Hanasaki doesn’t understand. _Take care of himself?_

Akechi turns his back.

Fear shoots through Hanasaki’s arousal, and he scrambles to sit up. “Wait, please, you can’t—” He bites his protest off, ashamed even through his instability.

Of course Akechi doesn’t want him. It’s the same reason he’s always ignored him. Because he’s a foolish, needy boy who wants too much. Why should that change now that he’s drugged-up and desperate enough to ask?

He laughs. It might not sound entirely sane, because Akechi flinches. Hanasaki laughs again, stronger this time. “Yeah,” he says, even though it hurts. “Sorry. I’ve got this.”

He’s not a child. He’s fifteen years old. He can take care of himself. 

Akechi smiles encouragingly. “Great. Knock yourself out, kiddo. Take your time.”

Then he waves. The door hisses shut behind him.

Hanasaki’s already falling back on the bed, fumbling desperately at his belt. When he at last gets it open, he nearly cries with relief. His cock practically jumps into his hand, and he yanks too hard. The sensation is a hollow echo of even just the taste of Akechi’s neck, but it’s good. He tells himself it’s good. It has to be good enough.

Damn, it hurts so bad—he wants Akechi, but yeah—if he can just get off—

*

Akechi’s gotten into a lot of bad situations over the years, and he’s done a lot of bad things. Perving on his sex-crazed fifteen-year-old student? If he’s ranking his life choices in terms of depravity, this isn’t even in the top ten.

Turning on the security feed is definitely in the top five, though.

 _I just want to make sure he’s all right_ , he tells himself as he leans back in the chair, watching the screen hovering above him. _Just in case there are any weird side-effects._

Well. Any _other_ weird side-effects.

He idly reflects it’s a good thing his personal feed is completely secure, or this footage could get him arrested.

The screen shows Hanasaki from above, at an angle, not that different from if Akechi was standing over him at the side of the bed. The boy’s pants are around his pale thighs. He arches. Writhes. His shirt’s rucked up over his lean stomach. One hand over his mouth, not quite holding back the low moans, and the other jerking slowly over his cock. The little pink head is visible in flashes as his hand move.

Akechi actually thought he’d be jerking faster, considering how desperate he’d been. He zooms the video in, and—fuck. Sure enough, there’s a telltale gleam of liquid on his stomach, his shirt hem. Hanasaki’s already come once, and he’s still hard and desperate.

“This isn’t normal,” Akechi says.

Saying it out loud doesn’t help as much as he’d hoped. He realizes, guiltily, that he’s still zoomed in on Hanasaki. Just that smooth, taut belly tensing, and the tanned hand moving over his pink cock. His fingers glisten.

Zooming out is no better. Now he can see Hanasaki-kun biting his lip, eyes rolling back, free hand fumbling uselessly at his tie.

Akechi mutes the screen right in the middle of a sinful groan. He switches his phone to voice-only and calls Otomo.

“Hey, there. No, no case today. I just had some questions about that chemical aphrodisiac you were working out. What? No reason. I just want to consider potential applications.”

As he asks questions—and receives some very disturbing answers—he continues to watch Hanasaki-kun on the security feed.

The phone call is brief. Five minutes at most. During that time, he watches Hanasaki orgasm.

Twice.

Akechi bids Otomo-kun a distracted farewell, and hangs up. To his dismay, the new information confirms his suspicions. The aphrodisiac’s effect can’t be dispelled by masturbation alone. Another person has to get Hanasaki off.

He imagines kneeling over the rumpled bed and pushing that stained shirt further up. Replacing Hanasaki’s hand on his cock with his own. He imagines the difference in size. How that hot, chafed little cock would feel against his much-larger palm.

He turns off the feed and buries his head in his hands. Tries to steady his breathing. Fails.

He’s so hard, it hurts.

*

Hanasaki whimpers through his fifth orgasm. Or fourth, or sixth. It’s all one painful, endless urge coursing through him.

He thinks it helped being in Akechi’s bed at first. The sheets smell of him. The pillow. This is where Akechi lies at night, and sleeps, and dreams. Probably touches himself, just like Hanasaki touches himself now.

His hand’s warm with friction, his arm hurts. His cock is hot and raw and he just wishes this would end.

_How could he leave me?_

One more. Maybe one more will end this. 

But he can’t get there. He shakes on the edge of orgasm, and he just can’t get there again. He throws his head back, whimpering. His cheeks are wet, and his eyes burn. He grits his teeth to try to hold in the sob, but it breaks from him anyway.

He grips his cock harder. It hurts. But he just needs more—more—

The bed dips under new weight. His eyes fly open just as Akechi grabs his wrist and draws it away.

“Easy, boy.” Akechi’s voice is tight, but now, he’s looking directly in Hanasaki’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was leaving you like this.”

Hanasaki whimpers and rocks. Akechi’s touching him. His hand’s so large around his wrist, and it feels so good just to touch him. Hanasaki’s almost, almost there—if he can just touch himself too—but he’s barely moved before Akechi grabs his other wrist, and pins him to the bed.

“Please! Sensei, you have to let me!”

“Stop. You’re just hurting yourself.” Akechi’s grip tightens when Hanasaki arches up. His knee is warm and firm against Hanasaki’s bare waist. “It’s not going to work.”

“I can’t stop,” Hanasaki near-screams. His vision blurs. The only clear thing is Akechi’s face, pinched with worry. His hair falls around his face, just like Hanasaki pictured it might. “What do you mean, it won’t work?”

“I asked Otomo-kun more about his experiment. Just touching yourself won’t dispel the effect. Someone else has to touch you.”

Hanasaki freezes as the words penetrate his delirium. Someone else. Touch. Akechi’s hands, like manacles around his wrists. He breathes, “Sensei.”

Akechi clears his throat. “Tell me who you want, Hanasaki-kun. I can call anyone, and see if they’ll help. Um—Inoue? No? That Kobayashi seems to like you—but how _old_ is he, anyway? Or maybe you like girls. In which case—sorry, I don’t know any girls your age. Except Noro, but she won’t leave her apartment, and there’s no way I’m getting you across town, so—”

“Sensei,” Hanasaki says, louder.

Akechi freezes. “Yes?”

Hanasaki shifts awkwardly to the right, until his temple presses against Akechi’s left wrist. He blinks up slowly. “I want _you_ , sensei.”

“Shit.” Akechi closes his eyes, and inhales. There’s a heady pulse of _need_ between them.

And in that instant, Hanasaki knows Akechi wants him too.

He licks his lips, and watches Akechi’s eyes following his tongue. He smiles, and tilts his chin up, baring his neck, and hears the hitch in Akechi’s breath. Hears the truth in Akechi’s voice when he says, “That’s not a good idea.”

Hears the lie when he says, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Please,” he says, for what feels like the hundredth time. “I know I’m not—even if you don’t want me. That’s okay. Even if you don’t want me back. Please help me. It hurts so much. I can’t…”

“Damn it, kid. Okay.”

It takes a second for the word to sink in. When it does, Hanasaki gasps. He stays stock still, even though his whole body still shivers with need, while he waits for Akechi’s next move.

Akechi bends closer. He lets go of one of Hanasaki’s wrists to tangle his fingers in his hair. Hanasaki melts into the touch, and nearly passes out from bliss when Akechi’s dry lips press gently to his forehead.

“Don’t move,” Akechi orders.

He pulls away, and Hanasaki whines, but obeys. Akechi doesn’t move far, just to the bedside table. When he returns, there’s a clear plastic bottle in his hand. He drops it by the pillow and grabs Hanasaki by the shoulders.

He tugs him up easily, and next they’re nestled together against the headboard. Akechi’s back is to the headboard, and Hanasaki slumps between his thighs. His head lolls back on Akechi’s broad shoulder.

He shifts as well as he can to help Akechi draw his pants down past his knees. He’s still wearing his shoes, he notes distantly. Akechi’s barefoot, but other than that, completely dressed.

Akechi’s cock is a hot, hard line, digging into Hanasaki’s ass and back. Whenever he moves, Akechi grunts.

“Don’t move,” Akechi says again, as he reaches for the bottle.

Lube. Is he—are they—

Akechi must notice him tense, because he stops to ruffle Hanasaki’s hair. “This is just to make it easier,” he says. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

Hanasaki isn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Akechi feels so big, he’s not sure he could take him. But he wants him so much…

He’s drawn from his thoughts by the pop of the cap, and the messy squirt over Akechi’s fingers.

“Spread your legs, Hanasaki-kun.”

Hanasaki complies without thinking. Akechi’s got one hand over his belly, under his shirt, and every once in a while his fingers slip in the still-wet come. Akechi’s lubed fingers touch his thigh, and sparks of pleasure radiate out from the point of contact. Hanasaki groans, and spreads his legs even wider, as wide as he can with his pants still around his shins and Akechi’s thighs warm and solid outside his.

It's a thousand times better than just touching himself, and that’s _before_ Akechi touches his cock.

When those slick, cool fingers finally close around him, he goes rigid. Only Akechi’s hand on his belly keeps him from floating away. Something clicks inside him, and when Akechi’s hand starts _moving_ , Hanasaki whimpers in relief. Akechi’s hand is huge, surrounding him completely. He likes that. 

All the hurt and wanting is worth it when Akechi-sensei curves behind him, dry lips touching the shell of his ear. He murmurs, “That’s it, kid. You’re doing so good.”

Hanasaki comes, arching into a wordless cry. This is nothing like his other orgasms. The pleasure rolls like wildfire through his veins, and Akechi the wind fanning him higher.

He’s safe. His arousal dissipates with each contortion, until he falls limp against his teacher. His eyes fall shut, and at last his breathing eases.

Akechi’s arm loosens around him. He asks quietly, “Did that work?”

He lets go of Hanasaki’s softening cock, and rests his wet hand on his thigh.

Hanasaki realizes his own fingers are clawing into Akechi’s thighs; he loosens his grip, flexes his fingers. “Yeah. I’m better now.” His voice is rough and rasping. “You’re still…”

Akechi laughs. He sounds just as breathless. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay.” It hurts a bit to talk. It hurts when he yawns, too, but he can’t help it. Without the frenetic energy pushing him on, he’s exhausted. “Can I stay here? Just for… a few minutes…”

There’s a warm pressure on top of his head. Akechi-sensei, kissing him. “Sleep, Hanasaki-kun.”

“Thanks,” Hanasaki mumbles. His eyes fall shut, and as he lets go of consciousness, he hopes this isn’t the end.


End file.
